PH Awareness Month - The Rest of the Story

November has been dubbed PH awareness month and if you're a regular reader of this blog, then you no doubt have found the blogs that are doing an outstanding job of defining the disease.  Also if you're a regular reader, then you know I do things a bit differently and to that end I give you this week's offering.

It started out like any normal hiking trip.  The plan was to navigate a little over 10 miles of the Uwharrie Mountains ending at my campsite in time to cook dinner and possibly read a chapter or two of a good book.  I was no novice of day hikes and had a 15-miler to my credit the season before.  I had checked and rechecked my gear, attempting to utilize efficiency and limit the amount of weight so I could make good time.  The only thing that weighed much was the water I was carrying.  I decided to err on the side of caution and grabbed two extra bottles to go with my Camelbak backpack.  This section of the Uwharries was new to me but I had no worries.  I had studied the map, memorized routes to take at trail crossings, and even checked elevation changes.  The forecast was for clear skies and an overnight low in the 40's. The weather was briskly cool but I knew the hiking would more than warm me up.    

The first couple miles of the trail went very smoothly.  The forest had been ravaged the previous year by a forest fire and although it was recovering, there was no dense vegetation to go through.  There was no animal activity, other than birds.  After taking a couple of snapshots of the devastation, I headed back down the trail.  The next section of woods was unaffected by the previous year's fire, but it had been hit by hurricane winds and there was deadfall everywhere.  There was some evidence that caretakers had begun to clear the trail, but some of the trail was still blocked by massive trees.  I rarely liked to hike off-trail because of the  harmful effect it can have on the plant life, but I had little choice.  At some points in the trail I could hop up and over the fallen trees, taking care not to step on a copperhead or rattlesnake on the other side.  But the going was slower than I had anticipated and the constant deviation required additional energy.  I drank more often.  

After topping a ridge I decided to break for lunch.  My energy level had dropped and I was taking in more water than I had ever before.  The area ahead seemed to be unaffected by either the fire or the hurricane.  The vegetation was thick.  So lunchtime it was.  I broke out my trail food favorites: peanut butter and jelly sandwich, salted peanuts, and canned peaches for dessert.  I topped it off with some more water and made for the next ridge.  

While the wildlife had awakened in the previous section of trail, this section was abuzz with the sounds of the forest.  I could hear frogs, birds, squirrels, and chipmunks chatting everywhere.  Evidently the cool nights had yet to extinguish the insect life as mosquitoes, horse flies, dragon flies, and locusts flurried about.  The sound of the locusts alone was almost deafening.  I continued to hike, enjoying the change of scenery and sound.  Eventually I reached a point in the trail that had obviously not been maintained in a long while.  The vegetation was so thick I could not see the forest floor.  The parts of the forest around the trail was even thicker.  I decided to take another break to review my options, besides I needed the rest.  I could turn around and go back but I was more than half way and that might have me reach the campsite later than desired knowing that I had to traverse the deadfall again.  The other option, of course, was to go forward hoping that the vegetation would thin out and I wouldn't get lost.  After checking the map and my water supply, I decided to go forward.  I needed to reach my reserves sooner than later.  As I mentioned the vegetation was so thick I couldn't see the forest floor.  So I had to rely on trail markings on the trees as navigation points.  I had made some decent progress through the maze when I heard it, the sound of a rattlesnake.  Being a cautionary type of guy, I listened to various rattlesnakes on the internet so I would be able to recognize their tell-tell sound out in the wild.  I was 90% sure that I was within close enough range of one for it to emit it's defensive rattle.  Normally I would follow a brief shot of excitement with a move in the other direction, but with the deafening sounds of the locusts I couldn't tell which direction the rattlesnake was.  I did know that if it was rattling, then I was too close.

Wikipedia describes the fight or flight response as the biological response of animals to acute stress.  The rattlesnake was stressed due to my proximity and chose to rattle thereby warning me I would have a fight on my hands should I choose to advance.  I suffered no such gallantry.  I broke into a hectic run through the underbrush, crashing through the portion that I assumed to be the trail ahead.  I'm not sure how long I ran, but I ran until I was out of breath.  The good news was that I no longer heard the sounds of the snake and being of sound mind and body I also checked that it didn't have any illusions of chasing me down the trail.  I had also managed to escape the dense underbrush.  After taking at least five minutes to recover, I noticed that I was no longer on the trail.  My flight had taken me to an open area of the forest but there was no trail in sight.  I would have to double back in order to find the trail.  I decided that being lost without a snake was better than knowing where I was with one, so I traveled the perimeter of the vegetation until I saw a trail marking on a tree.  Soon thereafter, I found the trail.  Knowing it was a good time to regroup, I checked the map and had some more water.  The highest elevation of the hike was just over two more ridges.  By the time I reached the second ridge, I was completely exhausted.  I began to take more breaks and drink more water.  I ate the last of my snacks, even my emergency food.  

When I topped the ridge, I expected to see the trail head up on a series of switchbacks (zigzag pattern of trail that allows for easier hiking up steep inclines).  Instead I found a rock ridge, the trail went straight up!  I would have to climb up a rock face in order to continue and believe me there was no turning back after what I'd been through.  As I climbed all I could think about was how snakes loved to warm themselves on sunny rocks.  Each time I pulled myself over a rock I expected to be face to face with one of the cold-blooded reptiles.  As luck would have it, all I encountered was a disinterested salamander.  By the time I reached the summit, I was spent.  I dropped to a knee to recover my breath yet again and drink some more water.  I was met with the slurping sound of an empty container.  Great! I was out of food, breath, and now water.  It took me 30 minutes to recover from my ascent.  I noticed the sun was much lower than I had expected it to be at this point in the hike.  After checking the map and my watch, I realized I was way behind schedule.  Even allowing for elevation change, I had alloted plenty of time to finish the trail and have dinner before nightfall.  What had changed?  It was then that I realized I had taken far more rest breaks than I normally do.  The breaks had become more frequent throughout the hike and had lasted longer than normal.  

The enthusiast in me wouldn't give up.  Even though I hadn't brought my water filter, I could drink from the streams if it became necessary.  And I knew enough woods craft to make a lean-to if I had to spend the night in the forest.  But I wanted these to be a last resort, so I got up.  I got up and I trudged ahead.  The hike would hold no more surprises for me.  I labored into my campsite a full hour after nightfall.  I was too tired to cook, so I grabbed some warm gatorade and a candy bar for dinner.  I put up my tent and crawled into my sleeping bag zipping it almost all the way up.  I had survived my hike, but it would be my last.

On my next trip to the primary care physician I mentioned my hike and how my breathlessness had contributed to my situation.  We both thought it was my asthma, asthma and dehydration.  So he prescribed Advair to go along with the inhaler I had always used.  That was the fall of 2005.  One year before I would be diagnosed with stage IV pulmonary hypertension.

As Paul Harvey would say, "And now you know...the rest of the story."